Popping Stitches, Pulling Seams

I just finished an INTENSE editing process for an F/F anthology featuring a short story of mine. These were third round edits, due the day after my daughter’s wedding, and the feedback was VERY particular and quite demanding. But it was so brilliant I moved right past my stubborn pouty ego and just dug in.

I had to rip seams. Imagine you sewed a shirt, and right about the time you were stitching on the last button, feeling like a boss who just made an amazing shirt, someone came by and said, “Respectfully, I think you can do a much better job on the right arm.”

It was like that. PAINFUL. But I realized these editors knew what they were talking about. They cared enough about my story to give it careful time and consideration. They weren’t telling me my shirt was a crappy shirt. They were telling me my shirt had the potential to be a great shirt if I was willing to pop a few stitches and think about it in a different way.
Man, it hurt to rip that sleeve off. It did. I was sure my shirt wouldn’t recover and I’d be weeping into a mess of thread and pieces of material. But it happened, and I survived.

I survived, and I made a pretty great shirt.

Sending a big, anonymous “thank you” to the ladies who made that possible.